The Breaking Point
by historylover
Summary: Illya wakes up missing some time. What's going on?


A/N: Doing it again. Hope you enjoy. This will be shorter than my other three.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Don't own Man from UNCLE. I'm doing a DVD marathon of it right now, though. A second marathon.

 **Breaking Point**

"You got this handled all right?" Napoleon asked from the doorway of their office.

Illya looked up from his desk at Napoleon. "You know, I'm still not sure how I got to be your secretary."

"You're much better and faster at typing than I am. Don't look at me like that. It's a compliment!"

Illya glared at Napoleon as he picked up a piece of paper. He hissed in pain as an edge of the paper cut underneath his fingernail.

"Problem?"

"Yeah, I got a paper cut. Doing _your_ paperwork!"

"Oh, do you need a saw? Does it need to be cut off?"

Illya sighed. "Whoever told you that you're funny should be shot."

Napoleon chuckled. "Well, if you need me, I'll be dining with Wanda. Oh, Illya? Don't need me."

Illya shook his head as Napoleon walked away.

Illya said good night to Del Floria as he left U.N.C.L.E. headquarters. It was a nice night, so he decided to walk to his apartment.

After three blocks, he noticed a man and woman window shopping in the store fronts. The man glanced at Illya as he passed. Illya felt his senses tingle, alerting him to be cautious. He pulled out his communicator, as he looked back toward the couple, who seemed to be interested in the jewelry.

He started walking a little bit faster toward his apartment, the laughter and voices of the couple started fading in the background.

He heard a passing car slow down. Before he could react, he felt a sharp pain in his neck, and he pulled out a Thrush tranquilizer dart.

He turned on his communicator as he fell. "Open Channel D," he slurred as the car stopped. "Napoleon?..." He tried to fight away the encroaching darkness as he heard footsteps start to approach him.

He didn't know if Napoleon answered or not.

* * *

Illya could hear whispering, but he couldn't understand the words.

He struggled to open his eyes, but his lids felt too heavy. He tried to call out, but he couldn't get any sound out. He tried to move, but his limbs felt like they were encased in iron.

Which probably wasn't far from the truth.

" _Wait, he's coming around,"_ one voice whispered.

" _Increase his drip,"_ a second voice whispered.

The voices faded away and Illya lost consciousness again.

* * *

Everything was blurry as Illya opened his eyes. He felt disconnected from his body and drug out in general. He waited for his eyes to focus before he figured out that it wasn't going to happen.

He turned his head on his pillow to a nightstand where he blurrily spotted eyeglasses. He reached for them, only to realize that his arm had apparently been used as a pincushion with various IV pokes while he had been asleep.

 _How long have I been asleep?_ He asked himself.

He reached for the glasses again, trying to figure out why everything was so out of focus. Ever since he was 12 years old, he used glasses to read or to intimidate others. He was far-sighted, which never presented a problem being an agent. He could drive, shoot, fly without his glasses. But, he had never seen the entire world as soft focus before. Putting on the glasses brought everything into sharp focus.

The room was nice. Best hospital room he had ever been in. Flowers and cards were all around the room, which confused him. His jazz albums were in a box beside a record player. Pictures of two young blonde girls and a dark-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar sat on his nightstand.

As he shakily sat up and leaned on his IV stand, debating if he could try to get out of bed, the door opened and a nurse entered.

"Mr. Kuryakin!" She grinned. "You're awake!"

"Yes," he said suspiciously, although she was wearing a U.N.C.L.E. medical badge prominently on her uniform. However, nothing was making sense.

"Let me get your vitals, and I'll let Dr. Miller that you're awake." She chuckled as she put the blood pressure cuff on his free arm. "It figures that Rachel would be at Natalie's soccer game when you finally woke up."

"What?"

The nurse's smile faded as she looked into Illya's eyes. "Sir, I'm so sorry for speaking out of turn. These hit you hard this time, didn't they?" She removed the cuff from his arm. "I'll get Dr. Miller." She stepped away from his bed and picked up the wall phone.

Illya swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited out the waves of dizziness and nausea.

"Sir, where do you think you're going?" the nurse asked.

He swallowed, trying to get his breathing under control. "Bathroom?"

She smiled again and nodded to the door next to her. "Give me a minute, sir. I'll help you." The nurse hung up and came back to his side. She took his arm.

He shook his head. "I can handle it."

"With all due respect, sir, you can't right now." She helped him stand, and he shakily shuffled into the bathroom.

As soon as he caught his reflection in the mirror, he let out an involuntary gasp. He had guessed that a couple days passed, which was why everything he had seen and heard baffled him. His reflection indicated that more time had passed. His hair was a little darker than he remembered it being. Beneath the glasses, he could see wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"Mr. Kuryakin? Sir? Are you all right?" the nurse asked through the door.

"What's today's date?" he stammered out.

"May 1st," the nurse opened the door a crack. "Sir, you didn't answer my question. Are you all right?"

"What's the year?"

"Those seizures hit you hard this time, sir." The nurse opened the door fully. "Dr. Miller is on his way, so let's get you back to bed."

"Where's Napoleon?"

There was a slight pause before the nurse repeated, "The doctor is on his way."

She helped him back into bed and left the room. Illya could hear her say, "He's pretty confused," to someone through the door.

Illya looked around the room and then picked up one of the pictures on his nightstand and studied it. He couldn't put his finger on why the woman looked familiar.

He also reviewed the last thing remembered clearly. Being hit by a Thrush tranquilizer. Then hearing words that he couldn't quite understand. He glanced around the room again, wondering what sort of Thrush trick he had gotten into.

The door opened and a man came in. "Illya," he said brightly, extending his hand for him to shake. Illya stared up at him, trying to determine why he looked familiar. Finally, the man withdrew his hand.

"Well," the man continued, taking a seat beside the bed, "I'm guessing you're pretty confused about things that are going on. Whenever you get these seizures, it takes a few days for your memory to come back. And, I'm usually always here to assure you that it comes back. And to help it come back."

Illya studied the man. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

The man grinned. "Sorry. The confusion. I'm Dr. John Miller, your personal physician."

" _Personal_ physician?" Illya repeated, incredulously. _I don't like seeing any doctors and now I have a "personal" one?_

"Section One has its privileges. The upper brass decided to give you a personal physician after your promotion. Particularly because of your seizures."

"Section One?" Illya scoffed. _Napoleon is more geared to Section One than I am._ "Where is Napoleon?"

Just then, the door opened again. "Wow, your room is like Grand Central Station this morning," Miller grinned.

The woman in the pictures practically flew into his room and threw her arms around Illya, leaving him no choice but to hug her back with his free arm. The woman began crying and repeating "Baby" into his ear.

"Do you remember Rachel?" Miller asked. "Your wife of twelve years?"

 _Twelve years?_ Illya shifted his weight, which caused Rachel to let go of him.

She brushed away her tears. "Baby? You don't remember me?" She looked over at Miller. "He doesn't remember me again?"

"Rachel, you know he'll get better. He always does. Illya, what's the last thing you remember? Probably getting darted out by Thrush, right?"

"Y-yes," Illya stammered out in spite of himself.

"After a seizure, especially as bad as the ones you had the other day, your brain seems to like to take you back to that night. I think you are still trying to figure out what happened, how you got blindsided. But, we'll get you feeling better and get your memories back, right?"

"Then how long has it been since that night?"

"Fifteen years."

"Fifteen years? I've lost fifteen years?"

"No, baby," Rachel said. "It's just blocked right now. You'll get these memories back."

"Where is Napoleon?" Illya asked both of them.

Rachel shook her head and got off his bed. "I hate this," she muttered.

Miller sighed. "OK, Illya, before I tell you this, remember that we've had this conversation many times before. This always seems to be a stumbling block for your memories. I understand, because he was your partner…"

" _Was?"_

Miller took a long breath. "The night that you were ambushed by Thrush, you had managed to call him. But, you had disappeared. After two weeks, you were found. You were so badly hurt that we all thought you were going to die. And you came close several times. You were in a coma for nearly two months. Napoleon kind of lost it after you were found. He felt guilty, and he ended up getting himself killed going after your attackers."

Illya's chest constricted. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He couldn't breathe.

"I never know if I should just come out and tell you this or let you remember on your own," Miller said gently. "But, every time you have a seizure, this always seems to be a stumbling block for your memories of your life since then. And I wish I knew how to help you."

Miller's words faded. _None of this makes sense!_ Illya's brain screamed at him.

Finally, Miller got up from his chair. "Rachel, come with me. Let's leave him alone for a few minutes. I need to discuss some new treatment options with you."

They left the room, but Illya barely heard them. "Something's not right," he said out loud.

He started getting dizzy again, and the world went blissfully dark.

"Let's test your memory," Miller said as they walked on the balcony. "Tell me the organizational structure of U.N.C.L.E."

"Don't you remember?" Illya muttered.

Miller laughed. "Of course I remember. I want to see if you do."

Illya looked out over the grounds. "It's remarkably quiet here. I haven't seen anyone except you, Rachel, and a couple of nurses."

"Best way to treat you. Besides, no one wants it out that the head of New York HQ has memory problems and occasionally has debilitating seizures."

Illya considered him. "You said that I was promoted and then you were assigned to be my personal physician."

"Yes…"

"So, this condition of mine must be known. I also have a family that knows…"

Miller sat down in a patio chair. "You're a suspicious man, Illya. You've always been. Right now, you don't trust me. I understand. After these episodes, your suspicion always overcomes your common sense. But, we've talked at length about your past. About what your goals for U.N.C.L.E. are."

Illya sat opposite him. "Really? What have I said?"

Miller slowly rubbed his eyes. "Just things about your past. About your family. You never say much about your childhood, though, if that's what you're asking."

"Speaking of which, I haven't seen my daughters yet. When will I be able to?"

Miller shrugged, "Right now Rachel and I think that two rambunctious girls who barely understand what's going on might not be the best thing for you to heal up."

Illya sighed. He had been studying the pictures of the girls and of Rachel for the last day since he woke up and didn't feel anything beyond thinking they were cute kids. He was hoping that maybe talking to Natalie, the older daughter, about school and playing with Katrina, the younger, might alleviate his apprehensions.

"Did Mr. Waverly retire?"

"He did. And his letter of recommendation for you was the deciding factor in your promotion." Miller took a seat opposite Illya. "Now, Illya, the organization structure of U.N.C.L.E."

Illya studied him, then glanced away. He could just see a parking lot. There was a man walking to a car. From a distance, the man looked like Napoleon.

Illya silently cursed the fact that he could no longer see distances clearly. These glasses didn't exactly make his vision 20/20.

The man got into a late '60s style car and left. From this distance, Illya couldn't determine the make or model.

"John, I have a headache." Illya couldn't quite decide if he was telling the truth or if he just wanted to stop him from asking about the organizational structure of U.N.C.L.E.

A nurse approached and handed Miller a note. Miller glanced at it, then looked at Illya. "All right. We'll continue this later." With that he got up and walked away with the nurse.

Illya got up and walked to the railing. Everything he saw still nagged at him.

Illya took a walk around the hospital, trying to put his uneasy feelings into something coherent and tangible. Everyone was wearing U.N.C.L.E. badges. Everyone smiled and called him "Sir." Everyone acted like they worked in a hospital.

Although everyone smiled and called him "Sir," most acted like they were confused.

He tried to reason it out. Maybe most of these nurses and orderlies didn't know why he was a patient. After all, this isn't something he'd care to advertise. Especially not if he sat in Alexander Waverly's seat as his successor.

His mind kept circling around that and Napoleon dying. Maybe Napoleon wasn't dead. Maybe that guy he saw was Napoleon. Maybe he was laying low…

Maybe everyone was lying to him.

 _Maybe I should accept this. Quit fighting it,_ a little voice in his mind started saying.

Illya looked around at the U.N.C.L.E. badges. He didn't see any sensors. None of the doors opened automatically. He also wasn't wearing a badge and seemed to be the only one not.

 _OK, that's weird_ , the little voice allowed.

After founding a corner, he found Miller's door. He could hear the doctor's voice from behind it. "We're probably going to need to move him away from here…. No, he's suspicious. He's not opening up in any way…. Those visits are making me nervous. One of them is bound to get wise…. I'll check with her. I have a meeting with her tonight. But, I'm pretty sure he hasn't told her anything either…."

"Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya turned, reaching instinctively for a gun he knew wasn't there. The nurse of the day smiled at him.

"Is there something I can do for you?" She continued.

"No, thank you."

She stood there, smiling at him, until he allowed her to lead him away from Miller's door.

"Hey, baby," Rachel said as she walked in the room, carrying a tray. "Do you remember what today is?"

Illya shoved aside the research he was doing on seizures and memory problems as she sat the tray down on the table. "You're going to say something like it's our anniversary or something like that, right?"

She beamed. "So, you do remember?" It made him sad. He wished he had more memories of her. At his look, her smile disappeared and she blushed. "No, not right now. But, it will come. Illya, I'm not sure how much more I can take of this."

"I know."

She gave him a sad smile. "I brought us a nice meal. To celebrate when I married my best friend and to celebrate that you're feeling better. You tend to like to give me scares, don't you?"

He watched her, trying to get a handle on her. "When can I see Natalie and Katrina?"

"Dr. Miller and I don't think that's a good idea just now. Get your memories back."

He reached for the salt. He was used to bland food, but hospital food, even good hospital food like this, was usually horrible. As he was shaking some salt on his plate, a little bit spilled, making his paper cut burn.

 _My paper cut?_ He studied his finger and found it just under his fingernail.

"Is there something wrong?" Rachel asked.

"I got a paper cut."

"Those hurt."

Illya looked from his cut to her. After a couple seconds, she looked up from her plate and smiled at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He studied her for a few more moments before saying, "I'm not looking at you in any way. I'm just tired."

Her grin faded, and her eyes darted nervously to the door.

"Am I making you nervous?" Illya pushed away his plate.

"No. Of course not." She stood up. "You're in a mood, aren't you? I'll let you rest."

She walked over to him and kiss him. He pulled a bobby pin from her hair and palmed it during the kiss.

She pulled away. "Good night, Baby," and walked out the door.

He watched her go and turned the pin in his hand. After a few minutes, he checked the doorknob. He wasn't surprised to find it locked. But, it was a surprisingly easy lock to pick.

A couple of nurses nodded to him as he passed their station, but mostly he was ignored. He noticed that none of them called him "Sir."

Rounding the corner to the doctors' offices, he found the hallway deserted.

Pausing by Miller's office door, he took a few moments to listen in it before deciding that Miller's meeting wasn't in there. This door was a little harder to pick.

Finally, the door opened to a nice office. He kept the light off and looked around.

 _What am I looking for?_ He figured he would start at the desk. After sitting down in the nice leather chair, he slid his hands under the desk, checking for alarms. There weren't any.

"Stupid thing not to alarms here, doctor," Illya muttered as he turned his attention to the drawers. He used the nearly spent bobby pin to pick the lock on the desk. It was the hardest one yet. As soon as the lock clicked open, the pin finally gave up.

The first drawer he opened had the usual pens, notepads, some loose change.

As he started to close the drawer, he spotted something that looked like his communicator. He debated on calling on it now, but wasn't sure what to report. Although his unease was growing, the only proof he had that something was weird was the paper cut. He pocked it and continued.

Next drawer held patient files. He fingered through them, but none of the names rang any bells for him.

"So, you're a real doctor, aren't you?" he muttered.

As he closed the drawer, his knee bumped painfully against something and he could feel it open. Ducking under the desk, he saw a hidden panel that held a couple files. He pulled out the files.

The thinner one was labeled with Napoleon's name. The thicker one had his name.

Before he opened his file, he looked again at the desk calendar. The year on it was 1968.

Angrily he flipped open his file. The first page was a to-do list of a schedule. Tomorrow's big conversation starter seemed to be talking about Napoleon's "death." He glanced over Napoleon's file, wondering if they were planning on doing the same thing to him.

 _Or maybe they already are…_

The door opened, and Miller and Rachel stepped inside. Rachel looked like she wanted to faint at the sight of him. Miller's smile faded for a moment and then brightened.

"Illya," he said cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"

"I went for a walk, and I came in to rest. Besides, Section One is able to go into every part of every U.N.C.L.E. complex, office, headquarters."

"Really?" Illya could practically see the wheels turning in Miller's head. "But, you know, if you wanted to talk, you could have called. Are you remembering anything more?"

"Yes."

"Illya…" Rachel began, then glanced at Miller and closed her mouth.

"So, let's talk." Miller's confident voice was betrayed by the sweat beads suddenly appearing as he sat down. "What are you remembering?"

"Well, before I answer that, I have some questions for you. My first question is what you hope to accomplish by gaslighting me?"

"I'm not understanding the question, Illya. What makes you think we're trying to drive you crazy? You know, this paranoia is standard whenever you have seizures."

"You're trying to make me think that 15 years have passed, and I have no memory of them. For what purpose? You're trying to get me to recite the U.N.C.L.E. organizational structure. Why? What does Thrush need that for?"

"You think I'm Thrush?" Miller laughed, but his laugh was shaky.

"No, you know too much about the structure, don't you? So, what else?" Illya considered him. "Various affairs? Projects we're working on?"

"Paranoia. Look, why don't I walk you back to your room. We'll talk in the morning."

"I guess we're still playing this game? All right. So, what have we talked about in the past? Because there are no notes about conversations in my medical file except for the last two or three days."

"You don't like to talk much about your past, and you sure don't like whenever I do make notes about our conversations."

"But, you must know something." Illya looked at Rachel. "How about you?"

Rachel flushed. "What do you want to know?"

Illya thought for a second. "You must know your in-laws. How many brothers and sisters do I have and where do I fall in the order?"

She hesitated. "Three siblings, and you're the youngest?"

"No."

Rachel's eyes filled with tears.

Miller sighed. "How did you figure this out?"

"Well, for starters, your calendar is 15 years out of date if it is, in fact, 1983. Also, shortly before I was knocked out with a tranquilizer dart, I got a paper cut. It's in a bad spot, just under my fingernail. But, I know it doesn't take 15 years for a paper cut to heal. Also, the badges are nice replications, but they don't function like they're supposed to."

Miller grinned again. "So, what are you planning on doing now?"

Illya ignored him. "Is Napoleon part of this little experiment?"

"Because you're not just going to walk out of here, you do know that, right?" Miller continued. At Illya's icy glare, Miller sighed. "No, he's not. We tried to grab him and missed our shot."

"You've must have been planning this for a while."

"We have. Feel honored."

"You two are the couple from the other night, right? That's why you look familiar. How many are involved with this?"

Miller glanced at Rachel. "Most here have no involvement in this. They were just told to wear the badges and call you 'Sir'."

"You two and two of the nurses, right?"

"Illya, you've got to understand…" Rachel started again. Miller shook his head at her, and she fell silent again.

"How about…?" Illya waved at his face.

"The crow's feet are temporary and are already starting to fade. The dye will wash out of your hair in about a month or so, depending on how often you wash your hair."

"My eyes?"

"Drops in them that will wear off in a couple weeks, leaving your vision normal again."

"My last question is just to satisfy my own curiosity. Why dye my hair darker?"

"Because you're practically a platinum blonde as it is. My nurse said that she's known some blondes get darker as they age. I don't think that's fair, but I've been told that's sometimes what happens. Now, Mr. Kuryakin, do you have a plan to get out of here? Because, while most of the people here aren't Thrush and works at this hospital, don't think that Thrush will let you go so easily. We're not as careful to keep innocents safe as you are."

Illya stood up. "Well, I don't see any cameras, but I'm sure that you're recording this. I think I've got some time. Not much, though." He pulled out the communicator and turned it on. "Open Channel D. Give me Napoleon Solo."

After a few seconds, Napoleon's voice came through, _"Illya? Where are you?"_

"I'm not entirely sure. But, I'm pretty sure I saw you here this morning."

" _Yes, I know where you are. Are you all right? I'm coming to get you. Can you handle it for a couple hours? You're in upstate New York, by the way."_

"I think so, but hurry." He put the communicator back in his pocket.

Miller tapped his fingers against the arms of his chair. "So, what are you going to do, Illya?" He repeated. "You know you're not just walking out of here."

"Why not?" Rachel asked. "You said that if he gave you what you wanted to know, you would release him."

Miller patted her arm. "No, I said I'd release you. That's also cute you'd believe me."

Illya ignored them. "How long were you planning on this charade lasting?"

"As long as necessary." Miller leaned forward. "See, my theory is that the threat of losing your life isn't all that effective. The threat of losing your identity, or creating another identity for you against your will, would unbalance you enough that you'll tell us what we need to know without being aware of it. Plus, the medication you have been given in the last few days has been cut with sodium pentothal. But, you were too suspicious."

"I'm so sorry, Illya," Rachel burst out and continued in a rush. "I had to protect my kids. I was going to get paid just to do this job, just to get information from you."

"Shut up, Rachel," Miller said coldly, causing her to whimper. He continued, "Thrush isn't going to let you get away."

"I know." Illya checked his watch, suddenly feeling he made a mistake not running instead of getting answers. He went to the balcony doors and looked out, judging the distance in case he had to jump. He didn't like the distance. At best, he could anticipate a broken ankle. He wasn't quite willing to break his ankle or worse right now.

He checked his watch again. _Come on, Napoleon._

He walked back into the office. Miller continued to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair, and Rachel kept whimpering her apologies.

"This is ridiculous, Illya," Miller said. "Are you planning that we just sit and stare at each other until your cavalry comes in?"

"Why? Are you uncomfortable?"

"Thrush is going to kill the both of us," Miller said, stopping his drumming.

"Maybe. I'm not all that concerned about your well-being, though."

Miller reached down and pulled out a gun from an embedded gun safe. "I'm not overly concerned about yours either."

Rachel screamed, jumped out of her chair, and ran to the door. It wouldn't open.

 _This day just keeps getting better and better!_ "This kind of violates the Hippocratic Oath, doesn't it?"

"I've always considered that to be more of a suggestion."

Illya started stepping toward Miller. "Even if you shoot me, I'm still not going to tell you what you want to know."

The gun trembled slightly as Illya stepped closer. "I'll shoot!" Miller's voice cracked.

"All right, Dr. Miller, if you help me, I can help you." Illya continued his slow advance, judging the gun, the tremble, the crack in Miller's voice. He stopped a little further than an arm's length away when Miller cocked the gun.

"I mean it. One more step and I will shoot."

Illya quickly stepped to the side just before Miller fired. He felt a brief rush of pain as the bullet cut through his bicep and shattered the balcony door behind him. He heard Rachel screaming as he leaped the distance between he and Miller. He grabbed the gun's barrel and Miller's wrist. He angled the barrel of the gun away from him, applying pressure to the wrist, and bending his fingers back using the angle of the gun. Miller started screaming as Illya could feel Miller's wrist break under his hand and could hear his fingers break. The gun came loose, and Illya quickly pulled it away from the stricken man.

Miller cradled his broken limb as he glared at Illya. "You think this is over?" he snarled.

"Yes." Illya struck Miller with the butt of the gun, and the man fell to the floor unconscious.

Illya stepped back, aware that everything was quiet. He looked over at Rachel, who had fainted. He went over to her and lightly shook her and patted her cheek.

"Rachel," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

She groaned and her eyes fluttered open and focused on him. "Illya?"

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so." She sat up with Illya's help. She focused on his arm. "You've been shot!"

"No, it's just a scratch. It's no longer bleeding."

Just then, he heard pounding on the door. "Illya!" Napoleon's voice came amid the pounding. "Are you in there?"

"It's about time you got here!" Illya called out.

The door rattled. "Stand back," Napoleon said.

Illya pulled Rachel to her feet and moved away from the door. "OK, Napoleon."

The lock sizzled and exploded, and the door swung open.

"Took you long enough," Illya said as Napoleon came in.

"You're not an easy man to find." Napoleon eyed Illya's appearance and raised his eyebrows.

"Don't say anything."

"OK." Napoleon waved at other agents to enter the room. He turned back to Illya and indicated Miller's prostrate form. "Is he alive?"

Agents picked Miller off the floor and dragged him away as Illya said, "For now. Don't really care. How did you find me?" Napoleon smiled at Rachel. Illya called to one of the agents and then turned to her, "Will you go with Agent Connor?"

She gave Illya a frightened look but didn't argue.

"Must you always flirt?" Illya asked when the two left the office. He took a seat in the chair Miller was sitting in and felt the keypad to the gun safe below. "So, how did you find me?"

"Your call to me when you were captured. You started given me a license plate number."

"What? I don't remember that."

"You were pretty out of it. But, you gave me enough that I was able to find the car. So, I've spent this last week asking around at hospitals and morgues." He chuckled. "I've had a fun week."

"A week?" Illya considered that. "I guess it's better than losing 15 years."

Napoleon looked puzzled. "Yeah. Is that why you look like that?"

"Apparently, it's temporary."

"Maybe you won't be stealing girls away from me." Napoleon checked Illya's arm.

Illya pulled his arm away. "You know what? You're doing paperwork from now on."

* * *

It had been two weeks, and Illya decided to get out of headquarters for a while. He nodded at Del Floria as he left the cleaners.

Dr. John Miller was still in UNCLE's custody, being subjected to various interrogations. Illya didn't care to listen in to them. His curiosity was failing him. He knew he probably should care. But, he just felt…

He wasn't sure how he felt.

Rachel was subjected to interrogations but was released. She didn't seem to have any affiliation with Thrush besides this. They didn't want to separate her from her daughters any longer. But, she was given the condition that UNCLE would be monitoring her activities.

He wasn't sure where he was going. He just needed to clear his head. It had been a struggle. He had voluntarily submitted to brain scans, just to make sure that he hadn't had seizures. He hadn't.

Psychiatry was wanting to talk to him. So far, he was avoiding them. He hated talking to them. If he would just be left alone, he could deal with his own thoughts himself.

Lost in his thoughts, he was surprised that he had walked to a soccer field. Young girls were playing soccer, being cheered on by parents. He found a place where he could watch the match and not be noticed, since he wasn't sure why he was there.

He spotted Rachel sitting with the younger of her daughters, Katrina. He could also see the UNCLE agent assigned to keep a lookout on Rachel's activities, but he couldn't think of the agent's name right now.

Rachel turned to Katrina, who looked bored with the match.

He turned his attention to the game. Natalie dribbled the ball toward the goal and kicked it. The goal was blocked, much to the disappointment of half the crowd, including Rachel.

"Are you lost, Tovarisch?" Napoleon walked to him, interrupting his thoughts.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Agent McAllister saw you." Napoleon watched the kids play their match for a few moments. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't need to talk about anything."

"You sure? You've been terse and withdrawn. Which is a given, but this is more than usual."

Illya ignored him and concentrated on the game.

"So, who are we watching?" Napoleon asked.

"Red 17. This is Rachel's older daughter. Natalie."

Napoleon nodded and fell silent again. This time, Natalie assisted in making the goal. Half the crowd went wild. The other half groaned.

"So, who are you here for?" Napoleon asked. "Rachel? Or her kids?"

Illya considered that, then said, "I just ended up here. I didn't really have a destination in mind."

"That's not like you either."

"What do you want from me?" Illya felt his temper rising.

Napoleon shook his head. "Maybe nothing." He watched the kids play soccer again. "Have you ever thought about the possibility of being a father?"

"With all the girls you see have you?"

"You want to know what I think?" Napoleon started.

"Oh, please, tell me," Illya muttered under his breath, sarcastically.

Napoleon ignored that. "I think this little mind games that Miller and Rachel played on you affected you more than you are even willing to consider. It's too bad. For what it's worth, I think you'd make a wonderful father. Besides, you got the discipline and strictness of a father down already."

"Very funny."

"I'm not trying to be. Have you ever thought of settling down, having kids? I think you'd be good at it."

Illya considered it. Before this, he never thought much about it. If he was being honest with himself, he never thought he'd live long enough to consider marriage and kids. Then, he didn't think that UNCLE would look too favorably on him marrying.

"Can you imagine me on a farm somewhere, a wife, two kids, with a third on the way?"

"Sure."

Illya watched Rachel lift Katrina up in her arms and hug Natalie after the match ended. He felt heavy.

"I don't."

End

A/N: This inspiration came from 1965 James Garner film called "36 Hours." I have it in my DVD collection. It's good. It's about a military intelligence officer who helps plan the Invasion of Normandy who is captured by Germans in order to get information about D-Day by convincing the officer that 6 years have passed. The title comes from its remake, a TV movie, which aired in 1989 (I haven't seen it.)

I hope you liked it.


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